Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/266

 

Amid the wailing of ages hounded in a circle, amid the envious seething of invisible beings,
And with cry of horror starts back, livid, and with grievous flaming of hands
Clasps her prey to ber breasts: a life, lamenting in contact with this sun;
In the clashing of a thousand wills, shattered by streams of thy mystical will,
Alone among all the myriads, man labours, countless hands are aquiver,
From age to age they are fixedly clutched, wearying never
On both hemispheres of earth . . . In tragical triumph of dreaming
Like hands of a child they toy with the stars as with jewels
But on awakening they grow turgid and numb, bloodstained with murder,
Livid with chillness of ages, and amid the soaring of earth, staggering over abysses,
They cling in despair to its herbage. . . Frenzied hands of a ruthless hunter
Tracking the elements down! Curse-laden hands of a half-naked slave
At the scarlet forges of toil! In clasp of entreaty, the hands of the vanquished
Fused like sand by the blow of lightning! And those cleansed with tears,
Glistening, overflowing with lustre, with the bleeding stigmas of love